


Outcomes

by ifloveistheanswer



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Super Dangan Ronpa 2.5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifloveistheanswer/pseuds/ifloveistheanswer
Summary: One of many failed psychodives.





	Outcomes

_ “Who are you?” _

_ “The World… Destroyer. Has your world crumbled yet? …I’ll proceed until it has. One by one. Piece by piece. I’ll tear it down. I’ll leave nothing behind. I’ll show no mercy. I will spare no one.” _

_ “…” _

_“This world… is a reflection of your desires. One of many possible outcomes.”_

 

* * *

It’s like a weight, grabbing at his ankles and dragging him into murky flickers of visions that might be memories, might be hallucinations, but they’re so corrupted that trying to focus on any one of them threatens to tear him to shreds. The sight of the man before him—this ‘World Destroyer’—fills him with these intermittent, fractured vignettes of a life that maybe he once lived, artificial sunlight beating on his back, acrid scents of blood and saltwater intermingling, a certain pair of hazel eyes that he never _could_ shake his feelings about… It splits through his skull like a spear, tugging his mind to the absolute limits of its reach, and he groans internally at the painful, impossible strain flaying him out into mere fibers. If he goes much further, everything really _is_ going to crumble. Komaeda steadies himself, summoning the strength to level a defiant expression towards the World Destroyer, even as he feels himself unravel. “The World Destroyer, huh…”

He stands across from the suit-clad man, and the construction site around them seems to fade into a blurry backdrop, almost like it wants to dissipate. Like it’s just the two of them in this world, like the dead bodies of his beloved friends aren’t just outside of the building, like none of it really amounts to anything. Komaeda isn’t ready to give it all up that easily, even if he himself isn’t quite sure what _it_ is yet. “You,” he forms his words carefully, fearing that one misstep may crumble the very foundation beneath him, “remind me a lot of someone. But… I’m not sure who.”

The World Destroyer offers no outward reaction to this, though his red eyes quiver in a detached sort of comprehension. As if Komaeda were math, or some string of lifeless numbers, that could be read and tallied and solved. “I was informed that this was a possibility,” the Destroyer breathes out like he’s trying to expend as little energy as possible on speaking, not for lack of energy but perhaps lack of interest. “You don’t know me. However…”

The sound of him taking a step forward sounds something a lot like waves crashing in Komaeda’s ears. Logic begs him to back away from the steady, sudden advance, but he remains where he stands, knowing that perhaps escape is sheer vanity at this point. Escaping would imply he has the impudence to think he could actually make it out of this alive.

“…It is not disadvantageous for you to think of me as _him_. I am, in a sense, a part of him.” He’s talking more to himself than he is to Komaeda, which is fine, because Komaeda isn’t sure what he’s referring to. “And my orders were to pull this world apart. That hasn’t changed.”

Two more long, unhurried strides, and he’s close enough that Komaeda can feel him breathing. His breaths are even, quiet, and unsettlingly familiar. Like the ghost of a lost loved one.

“Tell me, Komaeda Nagito. Did _he_ really mean so little to you that your world can continue to turn happily without him? Or…” the Destroyer rests a hand on Komaeda’s cheek, but it’s far from a tender gesture. “Was he so crucial that so much as an illusion of him would ruin this eggshell you’ve created for yourself?”

“I’m—not sure what you’re talking about,” Komaeda rasps, his mouth dry. Tender or not, the feeling of the Destroyer’s skin on his own is lighter fluid on an already-escalating situation, and he nearly feels numb with anticipation at the thought of what’ll strike the match.

“I see,” is the dull response, though the Destroyer angles his head to one side, trying to work out his next move. His red irises burn through Komaeda at a hopelessly unstoppable rate. Hot coals on driftwood. “Then let’s find out together, shall we?”

And the World Destroyer, technically speaking, kisses Komaeda right then, firm and unyielding, but it’s unexpected enough that it takes the unlucky boy a few heartbeats before he’s really processed what’s happening. It takes another beat to categorize the contact as one associated with affection, even as the Destroyer curls strong hands around Komaeda’s shoulders and pins him against a support beam, however perfunctory he is about it. Something stirs deep within Komaeda, something a little different than the shard-like pieces of memories—something a little more like instinct. As if he’s done this all before. The Destroyer lacks warmth, and yet his very existence feels like the afterimage of something brilliant—passionate—so terrifying and wonderful that Komaeda isn’t sure he’s capable of so much as conceptualizing it.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they’re back in his apartment room. He genuinely can’t remember how they got here, or, why… But his eardrums pulsate with that straining sensation again. Reality warps and shudders around him like it’s about to snap in half. His body is warning him not to press the issue anymore. The Destroyer seems to endeavor similarly, digging Komaeda hard into a wall that was a support beam only seconds ago. Or was it seconds?

“ _Don’t_ ,” he says, confirming Komaeda’s suspicion. Rather than aggressive, his hold on Komaeda feels strangely grounding. It’s enough pressure to hold all the strings together. “Any more than that, and it’ll all be reset. I will not lose you this time.”

Komaeda doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means before his bottom lip is captured by demanding teeth. He allows it, parts his lips to surrender entry to the enemy, and he thinks maybe he’s just lost his mind and this is all a fever dream. He certainly _feels_ feverish, scrambling to tether himself to the lapels of the Destroyer’s inky black coat as if he’ll get swept away otherwise. The mysterious man seems indecisive, for once, like he can’t make up his mind as to whether he wants to pull Komaeda into himself, or imprint the shape of Komaeda’s body against the wall. Komaeda tastes his own blood blossoming beneath those white teeth, and the Destroyer gives a small, satisfied nod when he pulls back to survey the affair. Pink saliva glistens between them, enticing and irreverent.

“Ka… mmm. Hi… …?” The syllables of what Komaeda thinks was maybe once a name—or names—twitch at his bleeding lips, but they fall to mist like everything else. “You…”

“You can call me Alter Ego,” the man says, close enough for his moving mouth to tickle Komaeda’s broken flesh. “I was born at the hands of a great talent, sent to awaken you from this slumber.”

It’s close, so dangerously close—the truth claws behind his eyelids, and he knows if he looks directly at it, it’ll all be over. He’s not ready to face that reality, not ready to deal with the repercussions and trauma and phantom scars. He hides further within himself, trying to shield from the insistent, piercing gaze of Alter Ego. Komaeda hates the way he’s made to feel transparent in this situation. He’s a mere insect, pinned and laid bare for Alter Ego to assess as he pleases. He hates it, but he leans into it as well, because there’s an outline of something or _someone_ that is being filled here, and he can’t resist it.

“…Try if you like,” is what Komaeda finally settles on. “ _Alter Ego_.”

That makes Alter Ego smile just a little bit. His features soften like his musculature is complex puppetry being shaped and twisted by someone other than himself. It’s gentle… but not his own. The heat pulsing off his body is not his own. Komaeda wonders, absently, if they’re being watched. He doesn’t know what leads him to think that, but it’s a feeling he gets all the same.

Alter Ego maneuvers Komaeda onto the bed with calculated, pre-measured movements, wasting nothing, wanting for nothing. Komaeda is pliant in his hands, never tensing against him, all too complacent in satisfying Alter Ego’s intellectual curiosity. _If he wants to ‘wake me up’ so badly,_ Komaeda thinks to himself, _then he’d better give me a good reason to want to._

Alter Ego is ruthless. He doesn’t wait for cues or ask for forgiveness. He bites and pulls Komaeda in so many directions, it’s hard to keep track of where he’ll be next. Komaeda distantly registers the sound of fabric ripping, thinks that maybe his button-up and vest are being desecrated by Alter Ego’s firm, impatient hands. Thinks, _That’s fine,_ because it’s all he has the capacity to think _._ A chill trembles throughout his body once he’s naked, and he feels too far-gone to gather any sense of shame or self-consciousness. Alter Ego is handling him like he’s a dozen layers of glass armor, hammering away each layer systematically—deftly—leaving nothing behind, just as he promised. When Komaeda shivers again, Alter Ego bites an almost-soothing path across his clavicles. _Stay with me_ , he seems to say, though his mouth is certainly too occupied for speech.

Komaeda clambers and gropes in search of the most secure purchase of Alter Ego’s body. As fervid and rough as the still-clothed man is being, it’s not enough. Just being in his presence is making Komaeda break into a cold sweat, moisture pooling at his chest and the small of his back uncomfortably. His thoughts are spinning. He feels raw and wild, unlike anything he’s ever experienced in this lifetime before, and he’s not sure what to make of the uncharacteristic hysteria that’s come over him. Komaeda hears himself laugh a little, though to call the ragged, wheezing noise that strains its way out of his throat a “laugh” would be generous. He feels outside of himself. Who is this? Who is Alter Ego? Why does being touched by this entity make him feel like he’s being thoroughly eradicated, only to be pieced back together into something else entirely?

Why does this all feel so familiar?

He belatedly acknowledges two fingers being pushed past his bleeding lips and accepts them with fervor, lavishing them with his tongue, savoring their neutral, slightly-metallic taste. Alter Ego, balancing above him, stares down past long, black eyelashes that he allows to flutter shut, temporarily offering Komaeda reprieve from those ever-sharp eyes. He murmurs, pleased, before snapping back into action, maneuvering Komaeda once again with ease. He retracts his fingers, using his other hand to turn Komaeda around and pull his hips close. Komaeda’s ability to process reality seems to be lagging, because it’s not until those wet fingers are working their way into his sensitive spot that he realizes his pants have been hastily pushed to his knees. Komaeda feels his face burning, his traitorous hips already flinching into Alter Ego’s touch, Alter Ego’s free hand squeezing bruises into his hip in a way that should be uncomfortable but instead just feels like some kind of wonderful, existential relief.

Through a great deal of effort, Komaeda tries to focus, tries to get a better hold of his surroundings through the frenzy he’s worked himself up into… He makes himself aware of Alter Ego’s short, prickly hair tickling the back of his neck as the man leans his forehead between Komaeda’s shoulder blades. The heat of Alter Ego’s breath on his skin, as it grows more labored. The concentration Alter Ego seems to be lost in as he plummets his fingers as deeply as they will go, knuckles razing Komaeda’s inner walls, every minuscule twitch of his digits setting Komaeda’s nerves on fire in the best and worst ways possible. The free hand has moved around to Komaeda’s front, settling on his stomach, petting in patternless, almost-reassuring motions.

Komaeda hazards to break the passionate silence. “What do you stand to gain from doing something like this with trash like me?”

The answer that hums quietly from Alter Ego is not one that Komaeda could have ever expected. “…He misses you greatly,” he says, gently. “He is distraught without you. And I am patterned after him—a small part of him, anyway.”

Alter Ego presses his lips to the nape of Komaeda’s neck. Scrapes at it with careful but assertive teeth, like he’s scratching a message into Komaeda’s skin. He continues, and Komaeda’s back is flush against Alter Ego’s chest enough that his voice reverberates through the both of them. “I thought perhaps sharing his feelings of desperation with you would be… beneficial.”

Like everything else, Komaeda isn’t fully able to understand what Alter Ego is talking about. And yet, something about the weight of his words, the unmistakeable note of _longing_ behind them is enough to supplement that which he does not know. Enough to make him arch his back and press himself taut against Alter Ego. A small gasp escapes him when Alter Ego responds by busying his free hand with Komaeda’s cock in conjunction with the pumping of his other hand. The sensation of being bookended by Alter Ego’s touch wrenches all the most broken, humiliating noises from Komaeda as he finally lets what remained of his inhibitions fall to dust. He watches himself dribble wet arousal all over Alter Ego as the filthy, indecent sounds of fingers surging mercilessly in and out of him grow louder, slicker—nearly deafening, even. The white-haired boy stifles a cry with the back of his wrist held hard against his mouth, but the second he does that, Alter Ego is growling his disapproval.

“Let me hear you,” he says, punishing Komaeda with a slap to the wrist and a third finger added to the building pressure that threatens to split Komaeda in half. He’s folding his body around Komaeda’s like he doesn’t trust him to not disappear. “I want to hear you. Please…”

And the smallest syllable of desperation from Alter Ego is almost all it takes to send Komaeda over the edge, but he grounds himself by biting his already-battered lip, hard enough to draw more blood. The taste gives him something else to focus on, a sort of anchor for his quickly sinking ship.

Quick to tire of any monotonous activity, Alter Ego retracts himself to push Komaeda onto his back again. Lying down is a relief for the boy’s trembling, exhausted legs—which, Alter Ego is quick to hike up onto his shoulders in a hasty scramble to position himself at Komaeda’s entrance. His zipper is undone, black slacks moved out of the way just enough to free his untouched erection. Komaeda feels himself salivate a little at the enticing sight of Alter Ego over him—broad, composed, still pristine aside from a wild look in his eyes and precum leaking from his cock. Komaeda licks his lips and inhales, preparing for what’s to come next.

Alter Ego lines himself up and coaxes himself in with little difficulty. The world pauses for an unnaturally silent moment as Komaeda adjusts to the feeling of fullness, the realization that he’s connected with this supposed stranger in a physical and spiritual sense that is so profound beyond his immediate understanding that it almost suffocates him… and then with a sharp sound from Alter Ego, the silence shatters into heavy, heaving thrusts, unfiltered cries from Komaeda, Alter Ego hissing and clawing his way deeper and deeper into the fantasy beneath him, but really, they’re both immaterial fantasies at the end of the day. Komaeda digs his heels into Alter Ego as hard as his trembling thighs can muster, urging Alter Ego to give more, more, more. Alter Ego is amenable in this regard, utilizing his leverage and a strong grasp of Komaeda’s pale, bruised hips to optimize his angle of trajectory like he’s finessing the aim of a pistol at a target.

His pace builds, brutal and unforgiving, to the point where Komaeda can’t even vocalize a response anymore. Soundless screams die unheard at the back of his tongue as he feels himself pushed to impossible limits. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, but he also refuses to lose sight of his adversary, though tears blur the edges of his vision and throw the scene out of focus. Alter Ego’s veneer of impartiality is falling away, bit by bit, replaced with an unfettered yearning that makes Komaeda cant desperately into Alter Ego’s tempo. Hair plasters uncomfortably to his sweaty face, and his erection aches with a rapidly mounting need, and Komaeda feels himself drooling gracelessly, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care. The only thing he cares about is assimilating himself into this so-called World Destroyer wholly and perfectly, until he can’t recognize himself anymore.

“Hi—“ Komaeda hiccups as he loses feeling in his extremities, like all his senses have pooled into the points of contact he shares with Alter Ego. A word itches at his throat again, and it surges every time Komaeda gets closer and closer to the edge.

“Say it,” Alter Ego demands of him, feral, red irises positively glowing in the darkness of Komaeda’s bedroom, reminding Komaeda of a computer screen that’s gone wrong. He drives into Komaeda like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, his hands make imprints that might still be there even when Komaeda is a physical being again, and that thought makes the room teeter dangerously and irreversibly. “Say—his—name.”

“Hi—“ They thrust together one last time before Komaeda sobs brokenly, “ _Hi-na-ta-kun_ …!!” and the world really, truly falls apart after that. Alter Ego shudders like windows in a storm and meets his end, spilling everything into Komaeda with a sob of his own, wracked with something that isn’t quite emotion, but it’s a close enough approximation to set Komaeda off. Komaeda comes, suddenly and violently, almost breaking Alter Ego’s nose with a knee as he snaps off the bed and bites into his own forearm.

The end tastes like blood and salty tears as everything burns into a white nothingness. All for naught.

 

* * *

“Dammit.” Hinata heaves a long-suffering sigh as the computer informs him that yet another psychodive has failed and reset the New World Program again. “What went wrong this time, Alter Ego?”

His almost-identical image flickers onto the screen, nonplussed by the failure. “I believe I came on too strongly this time around.”

It’s a strange turn of words for a program to use. “What do you mean by that?”

“I was too direct in my approach. It would seem…” Alter Ego seems to choose his next words carefully, which is… different. “…His feelings surrounding you are too strong and volatile to use as a springboard. Though I felt that I was closer this time than last. I think I can bring him back with one more psychodive.”

“I see. Okay.” Hinata leans forward in his office chair, considering this assessment. “You don’t think… he doesn’t want to see me, do you?”

Alter Ego smirks, however restrained he is about it. “Far from it. I think the mere thought of you is so overwhelming, he doesn’t know how to handle it outside of hard-resetting the program. It’s overkill, so to speak.”

“Huh.” Hinata tries not to look too impressed. After all, Alter Ego could be wrong. He’s well-made, but not perfect. “Well… let’s try one more time, then. Be careful not to get too involved this time. I think we need to be forceful without freaking him out _too_ much.”

“Understood.”

The computer chirps with a sound indicating that Alter Ego has initiated the next psychodrive, so Hinata takes a moment to sigh, rub his temples, and hope that this time really is the last one, because he doesn’t know how much longer his patience will hold out.

And Alter Ego will find it amusing, after all’s said and done, that fictitiously killing off Komaeda’s friends one-by-one is just ‘forceful’ enough, but remembering Hinata is ‘too much,’ though he’ll keep that bit of humor to himself since he knows his exhausted programmer would most likely take it the wrong way. Anyway, he has a job to do and a boy to wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter! @komakaikoma


End file.
